


Blood Type

by c0rnfl0wer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Victuuri Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0rnfl0wer/pseuds/c0rnfl0wer
Summary: New country, new fanbase, new opportunities. The legend of Russia, Viktor Nikiforov, has easily established his new singing career in the United States, but there's something missing. Time and politics separates him from his former bandmates, and an unwilling manager from a reunion. But maybe another rising star in the music world can give him just what he needs to reach the height of his career.





	Blood Type

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This was written for the Victuuri Reverse Bang 2017 and goes with the lovely [cyr-ren's beautiful artwork](http://cy-ren.tumblr.com/post/162194719311/its-a-warm-place-here-but-the-streets-are-waiting), which you should totally check out! This story was partially based off of Viktor Tsoi from the Soviet band KINO, so do be aware that this story takes place right after the fall of the Soviet Union!
> 
> Also, the Leningrad Rock Club did exist, and you can check it out [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leningrad_Rock_Club#/media/File:%D0%A3%D0%BB%D0%B8%D1%86%D0%B0_%D0%A0%D1%83%D0%B1%D0%B8%D0%BD%D1%88%D1%82%D0%B5%D0%B9%D0%BD%D0%B0,_13.JPG)!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy !! c:

_ It's a warm place here but the streets _

_ Are waiting for our footprints _

_ Star dust on our boots sparkles and shines _

_ There's a cozy armchair with a checkered blanket _

_ The trigger hasn't been pulled in time _

_ Sunny days... in dazzling dreams _

* * *

 

_ St. Petersburg, 1992 _

 

“Time to go.”

Brisk. Harsh. Still in Russian.

Yakov shoved Viktor’s bag into his hands and walked ahead. Posture slack, Viktor followed him out of the club for the final time.

“Do you need to practice English during flight, Vitya? You need to be perfect.”

_ English _ . Faltering though it didn’t lack Yakov’s usual tone.

“No, Yakov, not during  _ the _ flight. I’m set,” Viktor deadpanned back in English.

“I’m not the one here who needs to impress audiences. So I need you to be perfect when we get there and for the rest of your life. How else do you expect to catch the American audience’s attention? We’ll practice on the flight.”

Viktor knew Yakov couldn’t hold onto English for long unless it was dire. But they were alone now, it was unnecessary.

It was easy to ignore Yakov once the questions had stopped. Viktor sighed and only half-heartedly kept up with his pace. A cab waited for them at the curb and Yakov slipped in immediately, keeping the door open to Viktor and calling for him to hurry up, walk faster.

In part to spite Yakov, though more for his own sentimentality, Viktor turned to look at the Leningrad Rock Club once more. The narrow street at his back and pastel, semi-ornate facade were familiar to him, the shadows he had grown up against. Notice of the club’s closing hadn’t been publicized just yet, but Viktor knew it was coming. He wasn’t the only one the world was nudging forward.

“We’re going to be late,” Yakov huffed again, leaning out from the cab.

Viktor forced his gaze away from the club and offered Yakov a wan smile. For all the hours he had spent dreading this moment, it couldn’t be prolonged. He waved Yakov further into the cab and took his seat. He was careful not to look back.

The attentive shifting of his gaze was not completely needed, however, as Yakov was already delving into his lectures again. Viktor stared at him, bored, nodded and hummed and made little corrections when he didn’t like one plan or another that Yakov had made without him.

Flight times. Studio names. Learn English. Contract offers and dealings. Signings. Potential album sales. Then learn English  _ better _ . Replacement band members. Hopeful guesses at a salary Viktor couldn’t fully believe.

It was a lot to take in. Or would have been, if Yakov hadn’t told him all of this so many times before.

But it was still a relief when Yakov had to pause. Viktor hung back while Yakov paid the cab driver, handed him another suitcase to add to his own, produced the plane tickets. The sun had already set on St. Petersburg when they entered their terminal and waited for their flight to board.

“You have to be more prompt in America. There’s business to be done. You can’t rely on your existing fanbase anymore.”

Yakov wasted no time once they had found their seats. And Viktor leaned his head against his hand and drifted in and out from the next round of reminders.

Song lyrics. Guitar chords. Rough translations to English. Recording his old songs again. Possible other career choices. His next album. Start from scratch in English. Replacement band members. Try to make sense of Yakov’s numbers.

“Can’t you just tell me what studio we’re signing on with?” Viktor finally asked after a while. Yakov had been skirting around a definitive name ever since their plans had started taking shape.

“Well…” Yakov shifted uncomfortably in his seat, refused to meet Viktor’s eyes. “It’s not the best, for right now.”

“How bad could it be?”

“I just mean, it’s not a major studio. I was lucky to get the offers we do have. And the one I ended up accepting is a small studio. So it might take a while for you to get back to the popularity you have in Russia.”

“Is it in Los Angeles? Hollywood? You said to aim for one of those.” Viktor leaned back in his seat and watched Yakov. It was a sight to see him this nervous.

“No, no. It’s in Detroit.”

“Detroit?”

Yakov nodded.

“I guess that’ll be my goal then. Get back on top.”

Yakov fell silent after that, taking the hint. He had to; Viktor was unaccustomed to working with a manager, but right now they both needed each other. Everything had changed.

Everything had changed.

The sun was just setting when Yakov led Viktor up concrete stairs and to the weathered brick building. The taxi had already been paid off and only a couple of cars were left at the curb. “Ice Castle Studios” was draped above the door on a bright blue banner and various band posters like the door beneath it. It was old and shoddy where Leningrad Rock Club had always been so pristine.

Viktor yawned and readjusted the bags he carried.

“Wake up, Vitya,” Yakov snapped once he caught the action. “You need to impress Celestino. Make me look a bit better. Or else he might not keep me on. Or send us both back. Is that what you want?”

“No.” Viktor didn’t know what he wanted now, but he wasn’t sure it was this. “Could we have scheduled a meeting for tomorrow then? I’m tired.”

“Why didn’t you sleep on the plane?”

“Why didn’t you?” Viktor retorted.

Yakov sighed and rubbed his eyes. There was no argument to that.

Ignoring Viktor from then on, Yakov tugged at the door and knocked upon finding it locked. He looked to his watch and muttered a few swears under his breath. In reality he was the last person that could admonish Viktor for not sleeping.

With Yakov distracted Viktor took it as an excuse to do the one thing he had wanted since they had left St. Petersburg hours before. Setting the bags down, he foraged through his pocket and took out the one photograph he had brought with him. Having to say his farewells to the club had ignited the desire and Yakov’s constant and circling speeches only intensified it.

Christophe, Mila, Viktor, Georgi. Messy hair, dark clothes, thin smiles, and worn shoes against the light walls of the club. A well-shot photo in black and white. One of the very few of them together and the only one in his possession.

He stared at the photograph for a moment, holding only the edges of the paper with his fingertips. Any jealousy he had of the past was intentionally quelled. He sized the figures up instead, trying to imagine him and his bandmates standing in front of Ice Castle Studios. The same messy hair and clothes and smiles, but against a different backdrop, a different scene. It proved impossible.

Everything had changed.

“Give me that.” Yakov snatched the photograph from Viktor’s hands and tucked it into his coat pocket.

“Wait, give it back!” Viktor lurched forward to take it back but reacted too slowly.

“It’s distracting you and I need you focused. I’ll give it back to you once you can focus.”

Words of protest were ready on his lips when the studio door opened. He quieted himself for that one reason.

“There you two are! Come in, come in! Did you two find your way alright? I’m Celestino Cialdini, of course. And you must be Yakov Feltsman? We talked on the phone?” His voice was quick and cheerful in his lilting accent.

“Yes, that’s right. And this is Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor could tell the phrases had been rehearsed. That Yakov must have had several such responses prepared for every possible question and conversation. His tone was stiffer than normal, though Viktor doubted Celestino would register that.

“Good, good. I believe we already came to quite a few agreements over the phone but we’ll go over the contract again before signing off. Now where did I… Okay. Here we are. I’ve left the terms the same in this copy, it’s all standard here, and made a slight adjustment to the salary.”

Celestino produced the contract and a pen, pointing to each clause and number as he recited it all for Yakov. While they pored over the paperwork Viktor copped a seat at Celestino’s desk, leaning forward on the rare occasion a topic interested him. He didn’t understand most of it; that was Yakov’s job.

“And here’s the salary…” Celestino circled a number on one of the pages.

Viktor leaned forward to look.

And almost choked.

Yakov shot him a warning look.

“Yes, I think that will suffice,” Yakov said solemnly.

He knew it was more than Viktor had been paid in Russia. The gigs and bootleg albums could never match the number.

He also knew that wasn’t why Viktor sang. But why had that ever mattered to Yakov?

“Alright. You can keep going under the same name. I’m assuming you will since your manager hasn’t told me otherwise?”

Viktor shook his head to Celestino’s questioning look.

“And Mr. Feltsman says you’re used to being in a band. You’ll have to find new members if you wish to— ”

“I want to go solo.”

Celestino fell silent once Viktor spoke then nodded and made a note. It was easy for him to accept. Preferable, for all Viktor knew.

It was Yakov who looked at him in astonishment. Viktor hadn’t been a solo performer in eight years. Hadn’t indicated his ever wanting to drop out of a band, even when his own was falling apart around him. Hadn’t told Yakov of his new decision prior to this. It was unknown for Viktor. But why would this ever matter to Yakov?

Everything had changed. And Viktor needed to change with it.

Celestino flashed a smile at Viktor seconds later.

“Well okay then! We’ll make you the next big solo artist out there!”

Everything would change.

* * *

 

 

_ Detroit, 1993 _

 

“Yuuri, hey,  _ focus _ .”

Celestino snapped his fingers a couple of times in front of Yuuri’s face to emphasize every word. He leaned forward in his seat, fingers poised over the new figures and reviews he had collected.

Reluctantly Yuuri withdrew from his own thoughts, though still a bit dazed. He resettled in his seat, readjusted his glasses, glanced again at the paperwork he couldn’t quite care about at the moment.

“You told me you wanted to be involved in this, make sure everything is yours. And you gotta pay attention if you wanna do this. Alright? Good. As I was saying, your sales are good; better than I’ve had in a few years, actually. Not since I still had Viktor signed on with me.”

Although he could easily hang off every word involving Viktor Nikiforov, the rest of the meeting found Yuuri drifting in and out. He let his mind gloss over reviews and numbers and talk of doing more. Reports in the major magazines, calls asking for Yuuri to appear on talk shows, concerts, the whole works. It was overwhelming. Too much for Yuuri to consume all at once. He let his mind drift because everything was so new and different.

He settled on taking a few copies of what Celestino had laid out between them, planning to read them again later when he could better fathom the reviews.

“No questions? No? Alright, that just about takes care of everything. Don’t forget about the concert coming up though. It will do you wonders, I’m certain of it. We already have your set lined up for you and there’ll be a signing afterwards. Everything is taken care of, I promise. I’ll call you ahead of time, alright? We’ll talk about your next album once you’ve written a bit more.”

Time was always short for Celestino once an album was released; Yuuri already knew this from experience. His second album was strewn throughout the top charts and one of his songs was at the top again. Celestino understood all this and was rushing to maximize Yuuri’s popularity, utilize his talent to gain more. Yuuri had resolved to let Celestino deal with all of the marketing from the beginning. Had resolved to focus on his songs instead and let Celestino figure out and take over the rest.

Most of the numbers and critics Celestino had given were lost on him.

Asking to be included every step of the way was starting to seem like a daunting challenge. A trap he had set for himself.

But how could he have known all this when he had first started?

With a quick handshake, Celestino ushered Yuuri out of his office before taking another phone call. Yuuri certainly didn’t envy Celestino in all this.

Yuuri returned to his apartment with copies in hand, almost missing Phichit’s presence as his mind played his being compared to  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ on repeat. It wasn’t until Yuuri was nearly out of the room that Phichit spoke up and asked him how it had gone.

“Fine, from what I can tell. Celestino says I’m doing good. I have another concert coming up, though. Do you mind driving me? Since you’ll be there anyway? I’d rather not hitch a ride with Celestino again.” Yuuri offered Phichit a half-pleading half-apologetic smile.

In return Phichit feigned a huffed sigh and turned away from Yuuri. “I guess! Write down the details for me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you!”

He liked Celestino but Yuuri also couldn’t help the relief.

“And? Any word on how  _ Eros _ is doing on the charts?”

“You already know how it’s doing. You’ve been reading every review to me since it first came out.” Yuuri rolled his eyes and slumped in the chair opposite Phichit.

“Which I know you haven’t retained a single word of. I was hoping Celestino would knock some pride into you over how well you’ve been doing. Did he say anything more?”

“Nope.” Yuuri leaned his chin against his palm. “Just everything you’ve already told me.”

Phichit didn’t need to know that Celestino had compared Yuuri to Viktor Nikiforov.

“Dang.” Phichit laid back against the couch, flinging his arms above his head.  _ Dramatic _ .

After Phichit’s display Yuuri threw the papers onto the coffee table with an air of finality. “I even have evidence. Celestino was reading off of these.”

It took a moment for Phichit to lazily sit up again and start flipping through the pages. Every once in a while he hummed in recognition as he came across one of the reviews he had already read before. When he was finished he tossed them back onto the table with disinterest.

“All these good reviews and you’re still denying your true potential as a famous star.” Disbelief and sarcasm was heavy in Phichit’s voice; he knew better and ultimately respected Yuuri’s choices.

“I’m going to the concerts and signing autographs. Isn’t that enough?”

Phichit scoffed.

“Well it’s a start. Besides, you’re the one who’ll be good at that stuff. How’s  _ The King _ coming along anyway? Any news?”

“Not much. Last I checked they had just finalized the album art. Hopefully it won’t be much longer until it’s released.”

“And once it is, and starts raking in the sales, you’ll have to start thinking about another album. Might be better to write your next ten albums now, actually. Celestino isn’t the patient type.”

“Good point. Gotta hurry up and write  _ The King 2 _ before all my adoring fans have a chance to miss me in between albums.”

“You already have adoring fans?”

“Of course! First of all, there’s you.”

Yuuri gave a quiet laugh at that, though he was unable to dispute the claim. They might have been in different genres but Phichit was amazing at pop music. No one else could claim that their pop songs were drenched in traditional Thai styles, and Phichit had made the mix work so well.  _ The King _ was destined to be the next big hit in pop music.

“You have a point. Well, write those next ten albums with me in mind them.” Yuuri paused to let Phichit roll his eyes and laugh. He took the time to jot down the time and place of his concern on some scrap paper for Phichit. “Here’s that. Just remember that we have to leave early so that Celestino can give me his obligatory pep talk beforehand.”

The warning was ultimately unnecessary.

Phichit was ready long before Yuuri was.

“And you lectured  _ me _ ? We gotta get going or else we’re gonna be late.” Phichit already had a hand on the door knob when Yuuri finally declared himself ready. Hair carefully messy and loosely tied tie, guitar case in hand. “You always could get ready at the concert.”

“I know, I know, but I wanted to be prepared just in case.” Yuuri tugged at a strand of hair self-consciously before following Phichit down to their shared car.

They felt lucky to even be able to afford rent on what they made from their music.

Phichit spared no time in getting there, mumbling something about not wanting to be late. He had attended a few concerts before but Yuuri was the first one to get him backstage. And what better joy is there then to see what will soon be yours?

He clung to Yuuri as they made their way backstage and found Celestino. There was still a few hours before the curtain parted. Crew and technicians getting everything into place. Drums set up for the spare drummer Celestino booked for Yuuri’s concerts, which was easy enough when they were so rare and interspersed. A keyboard to the side for the same reason.

“Seung-gil Lee and Guang Hong Ji are good. Very talented musicians. Which is why  _ you _ need to decide whether to make a band of you guys. They’ll be snapped up by another group eventually and you’ll regret not having asked them to form a band with you. Where else are you gonna find such talent and familiarity with your songs?”

Celestino had warned him of it more than a few times since his first album was released.

Yuuri hadn’t given him an answer yet. It was too much change when he had always imagined himself as a solo act.

So every concert and album recording he was backed by musicians he barely knew. Performed on stages and in recording rooms where he was separated from the few people he did know in the business. He wasn’t sure if it helped or hindered his perceiving himself as being isolated in the business, being surrounded by strangers and distanced from everyone else.

The show had to go on.

“You’re gonna be so great out there. Did you see that crowd? This place is packed! I think I heard someone say the tickets were sold out. It must be so  _ cool _ going out in front of all those people and playing your own stuff. Are you ready?”

Phichit flitted around Yuuri’s dressing room, fiddling with the bottle of wine Celestino had left and the makeup and everything else complementary with the room. He eavesdropped on the conversations he could and snapped photos on the cheap disposable camera he had picked up a few days before. Every so often he made comments of how Yuuri would get more than this someday, how he would get this room himself someday.

“Not really but I better get this over with. Celestino said it’d boost album sales even more and increase demand for a third album.”

“Well yeah, I would assume so.”

“They’re gonna be waiting a while for me to finish that,” Yuuri muttered before standing to follow one crew member out to the stage.

When performing concerts, Yuuri tried to remember the old saying “Things aren’t as bad as they seem.” Meaning that the concert will go well. Meaning that his knees shaking and quickening heartbeat were unnecessary. Meaning that he would go into the concert nervous and come out confident.

He wished sorely that that saying applied to him.

Going into concerts was stressful beforehand and after. Even between the songs when he had to address the crowd. And regaining any tranquility during songs was a struggle as the crowds before him hollered and sang with him and the lights flashed in his eyes. The drums behind him were too loud and his own voice too soft. It was overwhelming to be so alert, subtracted from an experience he typically found pleasurable.

The show had to go on.

Celestino waved Yuuri onto the stage, where the other musicians were already taking their places. The microphone had already been adjusted for him and a stool set to the side should he need to sit down. And the crowd was cheering so loudly, cameras scattered throughout the crowd to capture the moment.

Yuuri straightened his sweater and walked out on the stage. The cries became louder with his entrance.

So he did his best to smile. And he waved briefly.

His pace was too quick as he approached the microphone.

And the audience was too loud. The lights too bright. His sweater too warm despite the crisp weather.

His smile faltered, but he made it to the microphone. His hands shook, but he kicked off the concert loudly.

“Thank you for coming!”  _ Cheers _ . “I’m Yuuri, and this is my entourage for tonight.”  _ His name was amongst the cheers _ . “We’re gonna start this off with my new album,  _ Eros _ , which recently went on sale. Ready?”  _ Demands for him to play _ .

Everything he said had been scripted, and he was grateful for that. Because all of the people who had attended, who expected to be entertained, left his mouth dry and butterflies in his stomach.

And could they see that?

How he blinked too often? How he had stuttered more than once in his speech? How his hands shook and, subsequently, so did his guitar? How he fidgeted constantly? How desperate he was to leave?

Yuuri had performed at concerts before. He had succeeded enough. He was still one of the most popular artists. And was still put on stage. There was trust that he would do well if he just remembered to breathe and focused on his singing.

Yuuri had performed at concerts before. He had had his voice break, stutter, fall flat, squeak, too often for him not to identify a pattern. And stress over that pattern to the point where he expected it to repeat every time he went on stage. It was difficult to remember to breathe and focus on his singing and do well.

The show had to go on.

Bowing his head over his guitar to correct the placement of his fingers, Yuuri started plucking the tune to the first song. Seung-gil Lee was already tapped the drums in time with him and Guang Hong Ji would join in on the keyboard soon enough. Everything was perfectly paced and coming together.

The music was cohesive and enthralling to the audience.

And Yuuri’s soft voice and poetic lyrics fit the melody so well.

And he did so well in the beginning. He played despite his trembling and fought to keep control of his voice as he sang. Even when he would rather fall silent. He convinced himself that he could be lost in the song enough to not mind anything.

That sort of thinking might work. But it was temporary.

Yuuri knew his strengths; Celestino had always told him clearly enough. His stamina for singing without many pauses. His lyrics that audiences always understood even when they were vague and shrouded in symbolism.

And he knew his weaknesses; he didn’t need anyone’s word to figure those out. His music was emotional, strong, but when had his anxiety allowed him to remain confident? To keep his voice from becoming drenched in his nervousness in fears? Because it was always there, even when pushed everything away, even in the midst of singing. It always came back to the forefront of his mind. All of his fears and doubts and distrust in his ability.

So his voice faltered, and his fingers slipped from the guitar.

So he failed in many little ways that even the audience must have noticed.

Including the spectator standing a few rows back from the stage, his hoodie pulled up to hide silver hair and sunglasses covering his eyes.

The audience cheered despite the cracks in his voice and the missed notes from his guitar. But who, knowing what to listen for, could call his performance stellar? Who could truly deem his concert a success? Because he had choked again. And failed again.

Yet Celestino was already talking of the reviews the concert would get with the assurance that the songs could overcome Yuuri’s faults.

Another concert had already been scheduled, despite Yuuri’s unwillingness to sing in front of an audience.

But he needed the face recognition. The popularity.

He needed to swallow his fears and do this so that he could keep writing and recording complete songs.

He would have to fight his fears beforehand, ignore his mistakes during, and finally allow himself to deal with choked down anxiety attacks at the end of his concerts.

The show would go on.

 

* * *

“I’m ready to be in a band again.”

Viktor barged into Yakov’s office without notice and copped the seat across from him at the desk. He leaned back in his seat and kicked his feet up onto the desk, which Yakov knocked off with disdain.

“What do you mean by  _ that _ ?” Yakov rubbed his eyes and pushed his paperwork aside, already tired despite the afternoon sun still filtering in.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be a solo act anymore. I’m ready to be in a band again. The solo career was great when I first came here but I need to change things again. Keep people interested in a way that switching genres never could.”

Viktor gave Yakov a sly smile. He had no doubt that Yakov would accept.

He had been planning this move since Yuuri Katsuki’s concert. Hours had been spent covering every benefit and argumenting against every negative of Yakov signing on Yuuri as a part of his act. Yakov usually gave into Viktor’s demands, but this was different. This was another client. This was a new brand name.

This was a new Viktor Nikiforov.

Yakov threw his hands up, leaned back, and sighed. “Just tell me what it is you want. Why do you want a band all of a sudden? You are fine on your own, Vitya.”

“I know. But I can be even better. Just hear me out, okay? Everyone knows me and my albums are always the best selling on the market, but we can do better. What if we added another voice that everyone knows? After this long, no one would expect it. We could sell more with their fans being added. And another client for you could mean— ”

“Alright, Vitya.”

“I’m just saying that it’d be worth the risk.”

“Give me a name.”

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Voice steady and eyes locked on Yakov’s, there was no way his sincerity and conviction could be missed.

“Celestino’s new kid? He’s still building his career, Vitya. He’s not as recognized as you. What about King JJ? He’s closer to your level.”

“I don’t know anything about him. No, forget about him. Yakov, I want Yuuri. He’d give my performance a whole new sound, I know it.”

“What? Do you get his albums? How do you even know about him? I thought you weren’t interested in checking out your competition.”

“Well, no, but that’s not the point. I saw him while I was in Detroit doing all that promotional stuff for Celestino’s studio. I saw him play  _ live _ . He’s a bit rough but he’s skilled and— ”

“A novice?”

“Stop interrupting me.”

“I’m not paying for some new kid to ruin your established career. You’re a public figure and he’s just starting to gain momentum. How’s that supposed to benefit you? It’d be a heyday for the kid, though.”

“He’s  _ good _ . He’ll catch up in no time. So why not get him while I can?”

“Look, I brought  _ you _ here and you alone because I knew you had a fighting chance. I helped you build from the ground up, and I won’t let anyone else ruin that. You’ll be fine on your own, Vitya.”

“So? Build him from the ground up, too! He’s an immigrant, too. And Celestino is backing him up. How is he any different than me? He just hasn’t caught on as much yet. I doubt he could ruin me.”

“Vitya…”

“Just give him a chance. Or a trial. Or something. We’ll make him more presentable or popular or whatever you want. But  _ he’s _ the only one I know can match me in singing. It only took me one concert to figure that out.”

Yakov leaned forward again and fell silent for a long moment. “Alright. Alright, we’ll do a trial. I’ll take him on to do  _ one song _ with you. And then we’ll talk. I’ll call Celestino.”

“No need!” Viktor shot up from his seat and made for the door, determination marked in his body language. “I’ll tell Celestino myself.”

“Wait! Vitya!”

His flight was booked before he made it back to his home; he was on the next flight from Los Angeles to Detroit. He called on his neighbor to watch Makkachin for him in less than a minute. Was packed in less than five.

He even made it to the airport early.

Notifying Celestino beforehand did not occur to him. He supposed that Yakov would call ahead in warning but did not think much of it. His flight would land soon enough. He would be in Celestino’s studio just before it closed. And in his experience, discretion had always been preferable anyway; it was the best way to avoid the attention he didn’t have time for.

He arrived at Ice Castle Studio’s doorstep ten minutes before closing, vaguely aware of his having tipped the cab driver too much in his haste and his lack of breath.

“Viktor? What are you— Celestino didn’t tell me you’d be coming back so soon.”

Yuuko looked up from the reception desk when Viktor entered and froze. For a moment she flipped through her calendar and notes before shaking her head and regarding Viktor once more. It took a few seconds for her to realize what she had said and hurry to deny it, eyes wide.

“Not, not that we don’t want you here! You’re always welcome! I just didn’t think you were coming!”

Viktor laughed lightly and stepped up to her desk. “It’s alright, Yuuko. It was a spur of the moment thing; I didn’t tell Celestino I was coming. Is he here today?”

“Oh, yes he is. He’s meeting with a client right now, though. But I’m sure he’ll stay after closing once he’s finished and sees that you’re here.”

Most of her words had been ignored, Viktor only caring about the fact that Celestino  _ was _ in fact present. He waved her off and apologized for interrupting her work.

Viktor then got ready to barge into Celestino’s office down the hall, regardless of the client. His hand was on the doorknob when he stopped short.

Voices.

“Your next concert is tomorrow. You’ll do alright, I have faith that you will. But you need to put some trust in that too. You only fail when you choke up. Otherwise? You’re perfect!”

_ Celestino. _

“I just don’t like the crowd. I mean, performing in front of the crowd. I’m not good at it.”

A quieter voice.

“Then just pretend you’re in the studio! Or that no one is there. Or whatever can get you to calm down. But you can’t have another concert like your last one. Your voice shook and you kept flubbing on your notes. You can do better than that.  _ You’re _ better than that.”

“Easier said than done.” It was just a mutter, but Viktor strained to hear it.

“Look, Yuuri, you can’t afford to miss concerts. You need  _ more _ , actually. Your second album is out, your third one still unannounced. How are you supposed to keep up your image? You said you wanted more; this is how you get more. And more does not include choking up at concerts and avoiding your fans. You need to be more sociable. Like Viktor! He’s always out in public. If you’d just act more sociable like him, maybe you’d have some more success. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Or!” Viktor decided that this was the right moment to enter Celestino’s office with grandeur. “He can work  _ with _ me! That’d work much better, don’t you agree?”

“Viktor?” Celestino stood up roughly. “What are you doing here? What is this about?”

“Yakov didn’t call you?”

“No. I haven’t been taking calls so I can work with Yuuri. Why? What happened?”

“Oh! This means I get to tell you myself!” Viktor flashed them both a bright smile. “I’ve talked it over with Yakov and we’ve decided to have Yuuri collaborate on a song with me. As in, sing with me. If he does well Yakov might even sign him on so that we can form a band!”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped. It was the only reaction Viktor seemed able to get out of him.

Even Celestino fell silent for a moment, shocked, before coming back to his senses. “You and Yakov really agreed on that? He’s actually gonna let you sing with someone? He’s been adamant about you remaining solo for years. Even more so than  _ you  _ have been.”

Viktor’s chipper mood faltered ever so slightly. “Well, that’s in the past. The point is that now I’m ready to form a band. And I want Yuuri on it with me.”

“Why do you want  _ me _ ?” It was barely a whisper.

“Yeah, what’s the catch here? A raise? More sympathy from your fans? What?”

Celestino leaned forward in his seat and eyed Viktor suspiciously. Because when had Viktor ever shown interest beyond himself and his career? Because there was always some motive behind acts of assumed kindness, which this would have been classified as. Yuuri needed a boost in his popularity, and Viktor offered to help.

So what was the reason?

Why go back on years of building his reputation just to crumble it so quickly?

Even Viktor had a difficult time rationalizing it.

“No! No, I have plenty of both of those. I need to keep my career alive somehow, and change is good.”

“You barely know Yuuri. You’re taking too big of a gamble to say that so lightly.”

“To help others become as successful as I am?”

“No, or you would have done this by now.”

“I don’t know what reason you will accept, Celestino.” Viktor tilted his head and set a finger against his lips, contemplating, but Celestino resumed first.

“Probably none that you have to offer. Whatever reason you’re doing this for, it’s not going to help you career by this point. But Yuuri could use the recognition, so please, be my guest.” Celestino sighed and gestured to Yuuri, who had leaned back while being so blatantly ignored. “In any case, it’s ultimately up to Yuuri what he does. What do you think Yuuri?”

Viktor allowed himself to turn to Yuuri then, intent on not acknowledging Celestino again upon seeing Yuuri. It  _ was  _ his choice, after all. Viktor had come here for  _ him _ . Only for him. So he raised his eyebrows, watched Yuuri carefully. How he couldn’t meet either of their gazes but stared at his feet so intensely. How tired he looked though he trembled noticeably under their attention.

And he was so ready to back down.

He couldn’t ignore Yuuri’s obvious discomfort with the conversation. Never had he intended to bring any stress, not in a situation like this. There was no continuing when Yuuri had no time to think, to ask questions before his mind had been made up for him. The situation was unfair. Too stressful. Viktor would leave graciously, no matter how much he hated to do so.

Who was he to force Yuuri into something he didn’t wish for?

But Celestino spoke anyway with little regard.

Viktor made no move to stop him, stilling as he listened to every concern. Quieting even his breathing as he tried to think of a way to rebuke the claims frantically.

“Look, I know you’re starting to get to the top right now, Yuuri, but you gotta think about this. I thought you wanted to earn your success  _ fairly _ . That’s all gonna disappear if you join Viktor. You’ll just be an extension of him, part of his style. You’re not well-known enough to protest that, but he probably knows that. I don’t know what he’s getting out of it, but he’ll be using you. You need to weigh your options here. Decide if success is worth it. You need to— ”

It was only out of automatic surprise that Viktor moved aside when Yuuri bolted out of the room.

* * *

 

 

Yuuri kept his phone off.

And told Phichit to send any visitors away.

And barely left their apartment.

It was the best means of avoiding the whole affair.

He couldn’t face what had happened at the studio yet. Or ever. It was impossible to confront or comprehend. Viktor’s proposal of working on one song together and excited smile were drowned out by Celestino’s poisonous words.

Maybe Viktor was just trying to use him. Celebrities were revealed to be bad all the time, weren’t they? No matter how nice they were originally, they could always become rotten with enough time in that world. Maybe Viktor had been nice in the beginning but had learned the game since then. Maybe Yuuri was part of the game now, too, and was delusional to think otherwise.

He didn’t know. There was no one trustworthy and knowledgeable enough to ask now.

And Viktor’s face was still plastered across Yuuri’s bedroom wall in posters and magazine covers regardless.

He couldn’t dispute or analyze or judge Viktor’s personality. No, not now. Not after meeting him in person and seeing that conflict. Maybe Viktor was bad like Celestino expected, but he was a stranger to both of them now. He had left Detroit for LA years ago, before Yuuri had even sought out his singing career, and rarely returned. Who were they to declare his personality? To decide on whether to reject him or not? Yuuri couldn’t be quick to jumping to assumptions about Viktor when he had been a devout fan for so long.

The posters stayed.

“Should I delete all of the voicemails Celestino has left you?” Phichit finally asked after a week of isolation.

“Yes.” A pause. Bitterness drained from his voice. “No. Probably not. I better see what he wants soon.”

Yuuri made no move to accept the phone from Phichit.

“Right… Why don’t you just call Viktor then? I think you need to talk to one of them eventually and you’ve obviously chosen to ignore Celestino.”

“No. And even if I wanted to do that, I don’t have his number.” He couldn’t chase the attitude and frustration from his voice this time.

“I’ll just call Yuuko! She’ll give it to us if she knew the situation.”

“No! We can’t do that either. I don’t want to bother him.” Yuuri sighed and stood. Grabbed his coat and guitar. “How do you even know he’s still in town? It could already be too late to call him.”

“Nope! All the tabloids and rumors say that he’s still here. Which is all the more reason to take advantage of this opportunity and call him!”

Silence. Yuuri almost didn’t bother answering as he walked to the front door.

“I’m just gonna go find somewhere to practice. I can’t stay here indefinitely.”

Phichit waved to him, phone still in hand.

There were only so many places to find absolute refuge in Detroit.

And the studio was automatically striked from the list.

Ultimately Yuuri ended up at Minako’s music store. He had bought his first guitar from her. Taken lessons from her. Sought comfort and companionship in her beyond just the lessons. When she had moved her business to Detroit to start catering to the rock stars she once played next to in her youth, Yuuri had followed her. She always let him take solace there, a habit learned long ago.

His apartment and Ice Castle Studios felt like home, but this was more. Minako was family and always had been.

It felt natural to wound up at her studio and set up in one of the side rooms alone.

“So you don’t want any visitors, right?” Minako leaned in the doorway, frowning.

“No.”

“Man, something bad must’ve happened for you to add that. You break-up with someone?”

“No. I wasn’t even dating anyone.”

“Oh right. Well, holler if you need anything. School day so the classes won’t begin until later. No visitors.”

Yuuri gave her a word of gratitude before she left. When she had gone, and the door was closed, he propped his guitar on his knees and plucked at the strings idly. Sleek twilight blue frame and cherry red pick, quiet notes in a quieter room. The songs were aimless, short and sweet, no more than poems without vocal coherency. Couplets that only he could understand and delve into.

Minako was preoccupied by the time Viktor had finished his enlightening call with a very intiative Phichit.

Ear to the door, he listened to the gentle play of strings for well over an hour, tucked deftly against the wall and only shifting his position to not be seen. Sunglasses hid blue eyes and a baseball cap was carelessly tugged down over startling white hair, but that hadn’t always stopped him from being noticed before. Nimble fingers could only do so much at changing his identity to the world when he had other concerns.

He didn’t need to listen there for an hour. It wasn’t calculated. It was a selfish risk.

Because the concert he had attended with Yuuri at the forefront had been all he had needed. Familiar techniques stressed too much but not completely decimating the obvious emotion that seeped into every note struck and every word uttered. Every sigh that unintentionally filled the air as he had shifted from one verse to the next. It was messy, it was riddled with fumbles; it was the only music he had heard since Leningrad that caught him off guard in a good way.

Because the first notes plucked here were more than enough. Mindless tunes that mirrored his own spectacular ones, toned down until they were merely soft reflections of what Viktor had expressed first. Reworked, intensified, but gentler than any other musician he had heard before had been able to achieve. They were answers Yuuri no doubt had never intended to let slip. But then, when had Viktor let anything of importance concerning his career slip his notice?

Because by the mark of his being huddled against the door for an hour, it was too clear that he needed Yuuri. And Yuuri would be wise to accept if the mistakes riddling even practice had anything to say. This? This lapse of an hour he could not regret? It was selfish. It was ecstasy upon hearing answers he had never gotten his hopes up to expect. And ecstasy upon hearing Yuuri’s own pleading questions in stirring chords that begged for attention. This was selfish. His only chance to know Yuuri from music alone, from unpolished expression, before he interrupted everything. Before he possibly ruined it.

And caught up in the chords, in the automatic melodies, how was he supposed to know that between the two, happiness only reached him?

Confusion was all Yuuri could find at his fingertips. Disbelief in a life he dreamed had been offered to him. A dream Phichit happened to have had with him. Never had he looked fondly beyond his songs, preferring to lose himself in only them because once he was in the public eye it was only anxiety. Only fear. Never had he followed the charts beyond what was shoved under his nose. Never had he sought the review of others.

How could everything not come undone if he had?

No. It was a cruel joke.

And he didn’t bother to hide the tears that stained his cheeks when he let the realization wash over him again, revelling in the solitude. It was a lot. He focused on the pick in his fingers. He breathed.

For every mistake he noticed in his positioning, he grew more certain in his lack of talent. It drove another doubt into his mind as to whether the charts were a cruel joke. Whether the positive reviews Phichit mentioned hearing from time to time were a cruel joke. Whether Viktor Nikiforov demanding Yuuri to be by his side was a cruel joke. A mockery. A testament of his mistakes and folly in his songs. And he simply hadn’t caught on.

It was enough to spur him on indefinitely, content in finding solace away from the world. The charts, the sales, Viktor Nikiforov. He knew things could move quickly in his line of work depending on who you impressed; he couldn’t fathom impressing everyone.

A single loud note woke under his fingers, ending a song Yuuri only vaguely remembered writing.

“Yuuri! That was amazing!”

So much for listening selfishly. But he had to.

A hand on the room’s door knob, Viktor stood proudly in the doorway. A brilliant grin lighted his face, even hidden behind sunglasses. Closing the door behind him, he removed the glasses and moved closer to kneel in front of Yuuri.

He did his best to ignore the stunned expression.

“I haven’t heard playing like that in years. Well, not from anyone besides me, of course. Do you have a name for that last song yet? Lyrics? No? We’ll think of something.”

“We— ”

“Yes! We. Starting today, you’re going to end my solo career!”

Yuuri tried his best not to choke at hearing those words.

* * *

 

 

“See? That’s them.”

Viktor lounged against the back of the sofa in the private room, holding the yellowed photograph of his band back in Leningrad. He had stolen it back from Yakov years prior and had held onto it closely ever since. His earlier brilliant smile had been replaced with one drenched in nostalgia and fondness as he stared at the figures he had once known so well.

“ _ The Legends _ . That’s what they called us. Because everyone expected us to go big in Russia. We almost did, but everything changes eventually and I moved here instead.”

Yuuri bit his tongue, not daring to reveal how much of the story he had already known. Magazines, newspapers, TV interviews, and anything else that had to do with Viktor Nikiforov had always easily caught Yuuri’s eye. It had been that way since Yuuko had introduced him to Viktor’s music years before and his interest hasn’t dwindled since.

He tried not to admit that Viktor was the only reason he had learned guitar, gone down this career path, chosen Celestino’s studio first and foremost, as well.

“How come they didn’t come with you?” It was one of the few details Yuuri had never connected.

Viktor shrugged, glanced away. “It wasn’t so simple. Yakov represented me, and he only wanted to represent me. He wanted a ticket to America, to bigger studios, and I was it for him. Having the rest of the band would’ve been too much of a hassle probably. So he took me.”

He paused, tilted his head, gave a short laugh to himself.

“I suppose it was for the best. I’m enough to keep in check on my own. But to add Christophe? Him, here, with the light hair and crop top. Christophe would’ve gotten into trouble if we’d stayed together. It would’ve been fun. But Christophe has an energy Yakov could  _ not _ have kept up with. Not with such a big move. But still. I haven’t even gotten to talk to them since back then. I’ve had no time.”

_ And they probably wouldn’t appreciate messages from the one who had abandoned them anyway _ . It had run through Viktor’s mind enough times, though he brushed it aside now.

“So… See? I can work in a band. You’ll join me, right?” Viktor looked at Yuuri expectantly, the question having come out as more of a statement.

In quick words he had told Yuuri of his plans after interrupting his session. Of trying to make a change with his image by leaving behind his solo career. Of choosing Yuuri because no one had shown as much emotion in their songs. Of needing a good song, a number one song, for him to accomplish any of it.

Yuuri hesitated, turning the words over in his mind, picking them apart for every detail. After a long moment he answered, words slow and deliberate. “So, you want a band and need me. But you used to have a band that just got interrupted. Why— Why bother coming to  _ me _ ? I mean, I’m not really necessary here. How come you don’t just go get your old band back together? I’m sure if you just talk with them they’ll listen.”

“You could just say if you did not want to be in a band with me!” Viktor teased, clapping a hand to Yuuri’s shoulder.

At the assertion Yuuri bolted upright and waved his hands to fend off the accusation. “No, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant at all! I just— ”

“I know what you mean, no worries!” Viktor gave another short laugh before growing still in contemplation. “That is not a bad idea, though. Getting  _ The Legends  _ back togther will catch the attention of America  _ and _ Russia. Let’s do it!”

Viktor stood from his seat and paced the room, photograph still in his hand.

“It will be a bit, but we can pull it together. Christophe went back to his family’s native country, Switzerland. I hear Georgi Popovich returned to his hometown in Russia. Though Mila is still in St. Petersburg! That’s what Yakov has told me anyway, so I suppose we won’t know for sure until we get there.” He spun to face Yuuri again. “How soon can you be packed and ready to go?”

“Um… ”

Viktor waited for a beat, blinked, then continued on his own accord. “Tomorrow it is. I’m going to go book our flights. I’ll swing by your place tomorrow; I got your address from your friend, Phichit, I think— ”

“Of course you did.”

“Bring your guitar! And your memory of that song you were working on! Be waiting for me!”

With a short wave, Viktor slipped his sunglasses back on and hurried out of the shop, pace brisk. Yuuri had had no time to bid farewell, let alone ask for any details.

* * *

 

 

Viktor bought three tickets to Switzerland.

One for himself. He bent over the tray in his seat, indifferent to the ground dropping below them or the light clouds that barely parted for them. A pencil flitted over several blank music sheets as he refined the song he had heard Yuuri perform privately the day before. New notes and ones changed ever so slightly to smooth the tune out, make the whole more complex and coherent at the same time. He hadn’t written the song; it would be the greatest one with his name on it yet.

One for Yuuri. His tray had been pulled down forcibly by Viktor, now holding the rough draft Yuuri had written of the song hurriedly the night before. Viktor had told him not to forget the song and writing it down was the best way. Silently he watched Viktor work over the song, nodding with the little changes altered in its technique. He had never expected the song to be played again; now it was being transformed into the most beautiful song he could imagine.

One for the bright red guitar Viktor had brought with him, a new dark blue pick tucked into one of the pockets of the guitar’s case.

Yuuri carefully leaned over to glance over Viktor’s work, watching slender fingers quickly and easily fill in the blanks he would never have noticed. “So… Viktor? How come you chose this song? If so much is on the line, then wouldn’t you rather write your own? Mine was just… it wasn’t meant to be anything, really.”

Viktor hummed, letting Yuuri wait a moment for him to finish the current verse. When he did reply he was obviously absent-minded. “Call me Vitya; it’s easier. Because I haven’t written anything since my last album. I’ve been waiting to figure out how to write something completely new. And this is way different than what I’ve written in the past. So we might as well just use this. It’s good anyway; why wouldn’t I want to use it for our first collaboration? Also, we need lyrics.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. Vitya.” Yuuri nodded and settled back in his seat, shocked at how quickly Viktor had become informal around him. “Thank you, I mean. For saying that my song is good. I haven’t thought of any lyrics, though.”

He hadn’t had time, truth be told. Yuuri had spent the entire previous night recording every note he could remember on music paper then perfecting it as best he could. By the morning, he had gotten little sleep, both from having to stay up later with his work and from the nerves of having to wake early to meet someone.

No, not just someone.  _ A celebrity _ . The most famous artist in the entire genre of rock.

Lyrics had been the last thing he could have accomplished in so short of time.

“It’s fine. Christophe and Gosha have always been good at filling in lyrics anyway.” Viktor flipped to another page as Yuuri scrambled to connect  _ Gosha _ with Georgi Popovich.

It would be a long day. Week. However long it was going to be for Viktor to no longer need his presence.

And that’s all Yuuri was to Viktor. He knew it. Yuuri had been diligent in ignoring the painful truth since yesterday so that he could focus, but now that he had a moment to breathe, everything Viktor had said was beginning to connect too perfectly. It wasn’t all a cruel joke as Yuuri had initially feared; it was so much worse.

Viktor was using him.

How could he not read the truth in the few blunt words Viktor had allowed him? He was working with Yuuri so that Yakov would allow him to have his original band back. He wasn’t certain why exactly, but he had his guesses: perhaps Yakov was doing Celestino a favor in forcing Viktor to work with Yuuri in the interest of his career, or perhaps it was because he  _ did _ want a new sound for his album to continue his trend and Yuuri was distant enough in his own music while still having a familiar style, or perhaps Viktor needed someone to partner with quickly in an effort to appease Yakov’s more practical senses in forming a band and Yuuri was the most convenient and easiest to work with.

It was difficult to piece fully together, but it was there well enough. Present in how fondly Viktor still spoke of his former bandmates. How brisk he was with Yuuri, demanding his attention and then endeavoring to rewrite his song. The end game of his pulling together a former band that had been broken up unfairly years before.

And Yuuri was simply a temporary linchpin until everything had been settled.

_ Viktor was using him _ .

How could he be surprised? Where Viktor was popping sounds that deafened the stadium, quick paces and lively tempos and passionate lyrics, Yuuri was the opposite. Tranquil chords that paused in the middle of the song, died down as soothing words took their place. Viktor woke people up; Yuuri only imagined that he put people to sleep. What real musical use was he to someone who livened the world in even his dullest songs?

But it was too late to think of this, to realize this, now wasn’t it? What difference could this connection make to a past already spent? He had failed to notice beforehand in a forced focus until he had sat down in his seat and the world finally came to a halt. Until his next destination was  _ Switzerland _ . There was no going back. And Yuuri supposed it was better to go with the plan by this point.

Yuuri tilted his head back, forcing his worries away one final time to catch some needed sleep before the world started turning for him again.

He trusted the genre’s musician to handle the editing process on his own from there.

* * *

 

 

_ I hear a voice weeping in the distance _

_ Have you maybe been abandoned as well? _

_ Come now, I'll quickly finish this glass of wine _

_ I’ll start to get ready _

_ Be quiet now _

 

The apartment Christophe had was astounding. City center right at his front door and rooms furnished in chic minimalist. Yuuri felt out of place, the apartment far different than he had ever seen. Had ever put foot in.

So he perched on the edge of the sofa, not trusting himself to lean back as if the simple act could ruin everything nearby. His fingers dug into his jeans, trying to keep himself from trembling around someone so new and…  _ bold _ .

While Viktor lounged next to him comfortably, Christophe sat in the armchair across from them. Not expecting the company, he had answered the knock at his door in a short silk robe and hadn’t felt inclined to change. Yuuri did his best to keep his eyes averted and concentrate solely on the song.

“I must admit, I never thought I’d see you again, Vitya.” Christophe leaned back in his seat and threw back the remainder of his glass of wine. Yuuri hadn’t touched his own glass, having not asked for it and  _ needing _ to keep his wits, though Christophe hadn’t noticed.

With Viktor there, Yuuri was all but invisible. Which suited him quite fine.

“Old Yakov sure kept you on a tight leash once he found you. I’m surprised you made it to the club as often as you did. If it were up to him, you never would’ve returned after he found you. But then, you always were impossible to get to listen.” Christophe gave a breathy laugh. “I’m surprised you’re still signed on with him. I would’ve assumed one of the big Hollywood agents would have taken you on long ago.”

“What? And miss the golden years of Yakov balding? Besides, even back in America he’s still the best of the best.” Viktor shook his head in apparent awe and pushed his own empty glass of wine away.

Christophe automatically moved to fill both glasses.

“I should’ve guessed. So what are you doing here  _ now _ , then? Has the old man finally decided I’m worth taking me on? Because I’m fine without him, if that’s what he’s after.”

His tone had hardened into bitterness. Resentment. The ghosts of abandonment and a career riddled with failure was in his voice and in his words. But Viktor only waved him off with a light laugh.

“No, no, I’m the one after you right now. Finally got him to let me pull a band back together as long as I prove I can still play nicely with others by using Yuuri here.” Viktor clapped a hand on Yuuri’s shoulders with a teasing grin. “I’m kidding. Look, my career needs a change of pace. I’ve been solo for too long, and I’d rather have a band to back me up like in the old days. I have my ulterior motives.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Christophe set aside his wine and leaned forward.

“Yakov doesn’t really know the full extent, not yet. But we’re going to get him to represent  _ The Legends _ again.”

“But Cao— ”

“I know, I know. Cao Bin left us back then with no warning. And we couldn’t do it without him. We’ve always needed back up vocals and another songwriter and there’s no way I’m letting the rest of you fill that niche. You and Gosha and Mila had your own places in the band. It was impossible to repair.

“But that’s where Yuuri comes in! Christophe, you  _ have _ to hear his songs. He can take Cao Bin’s spot. Do it  _ better _ ! He’ll make us better than we ever could’ve hoped of before. And besides, he’s never been in a permanent band before. Shouldn’t the best people making up the first band for the best new musician? With him with us, we can get Yakov to relax for once and get the band back together. He’s what we’ve been needing. I guarantee it. All we need to do is play a song for Yakov. I already have his and Yuuri’s agent’s approval in performing with him, at least once. But we need you to complete it.” Excitement seeped into his voice as he spoke. It didn’t tremble or falter but stay confident during his predictions of the future, his being completely devoted to the idea that his plan would be right.

Yuuri froze in his seat, mind trying to catch up with everything that had been said. All it could grant his consciousness now was the fact that another completely different future had been presented to him.

He kept silent, gauging Christophe’s reaction. Holding his tongue lest Viktor speak again.

Christophe sized up Yuuri, mulling him over for what felt like too long a time. It was only Viktor that broke the tension at last, though unknowingly.

“Here, play. Before he doubts me.”

Viktor thrust his own red guitar into Yuuri’s hands and spread the music sheets out before him just in case. He kept his eyes on Yuuri expectantly, waiting to show his pride over having chosen right.

Hands curling around the instrument, Yuuri read over the verses quickly to adjust to any changes in the tune. It only took him a moment before he began plucking the strings softly, noticeably hesitant but playing all the same.

“That’s it! He wrote it in one go, Christophe. I barely had to make any changes. And it sounds amazing, right? I told you. He’s our secret weapon.” Viktor smiled encouragingly at Yuuri after that, wordlessly begging him to keep playing.

With a deep but muffled breath Yuuri continued, building the song up to a louder climax than what he had originally played back in Minako’s shop. Less deliberation was bestowed on this performance, his opting to feel his way through the music. To try and adopt Christophe’s confident persona just for a bit so that he could prove his worth irreversibly. By the second verse he had minimized his mistakes and fumbles than he had before.

Because it was exhilarating, wasn’t it? To be told that your creation was perfect? It was enough. Just enough. For Yuuri to be carried through the recital with far less than nerves and fears than usual.

And when he looked back up during the closest seconds, he glanced up to see Christophe furiously scribbling onto a spare piece of paper.

Viktor leaned forward to glance at the paper and reporting back to Yuuri, quietly and proudly: “You’re gonna get lyrics to that song of yours.”

“You need a name for it.”

“Oh, I— I haven’t gotten that far yet.” Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hm. Well, it’s still a good song. If you’re sure, I’m in!” Christophe stood to shake Yuuri’s hand energetically before sitting back once more. “Now we just need the others, hm.”

* * *

 

 

_ Stay close to me, don’t go away _

_ I’m afraid of losing you _

_ Your hands, your legs, _

_ My hands, my legs, _

_ And our heartbeats _

_ Are blending together _

 

Christophe sat next to Viktor’s guitar, having been shifting away so that Viktor could work with Yuuri on implementing Christophe’s first verse. By the time they had landeed in Ekaterinburg, Russia, they had just finished resolving the melody and lyrics.

“Now, Gosha lives somewhere around here…” Viktor started as they exited their arrival terminal.

The flip in Yuuri’s stomach over such uncertainty was unpleasant.

“Yes, he does.” Christophe scoffed and led the way.

“Well,  _ sorry _ . It’s not everyday I get to track down our old makeup specialist,” Viktor mock whined.

“Oh, Vitya, have some amiability toward Gosha; he’s also a pretty good bassist.”

“Of course, of course. How could I ever forget?”

Christophe did the talking when they reached Georgi’s apartment.

It took only the mere mention of the  _ possibility _ of the band getting back together for him to agree immediately and wholeheartedly. Yuuri was acknowledged far later when he listened to the song then remarked on what makeup would suit him.

He added in his own verse for the song hours after Yuuri had played it for him.

“Still needs a name,” Georgi remarked as he handed off the lyrics for Viktor and Yuuri to reconcile.

* * *

 

 

_ Let's leave together _

_ I’m ready now _

 

“Yura!” A shrill female voice called out across the club. She clapped her hands loudly twice to get the boy’s attention. When he finally did look up, she put her hands on her hips and launched into a lengthy correction on where he had gone wrong.

Mila was a pain to work with as far as Yuri was concerned.

“We’re never going to get you a gig at this rate. You’re too stubborn. But you’re out of pace!”

“This child? A gig?” Christophe smirked. He had led the way to Mila as well, having kept in touch with the others, except for Viktor, all those years.

“Well, he’s getting better. If he’ll just stop being impatient.” Mila sighed and turned to Christophe to wrap him a hug.

It was midway through the embrace that she stilled, her eyes going wide and taking in a sharp breath out of pure shock. Pushing Christophe aside and waving away Georgi, she flung her arms around Viktor’s shoulders with an echoing squeal.

“Vitya! I never thought we’d see you again! You’ve been busy off being a big shot in America.” She leaned back but still moved to clasp his hands in her own. “How have you been? What made you come back? Are you staying long?”

Viktor laughed at the enthusiasm, reciprocating every shred of affection. “I’m fine. I’m fine. But I came here for a reason and we’re working on a deadline now.”

“Wait, what?” Yuuri winced as his voice came out too hardened in his surprise. “What do you mean  _ deadline _ ?”

“I may have gotten ahead of myself.” Viktor shrugged and shot off an apologetic smile.

“Oh my god what did you do?” It came out more as a deadpan as a part of him failed to be surprised.

And  _ should _ he be surprised? Viktor’s intentions had been muddled for him from the start. Too multifaceted to understand in one sitting simply because Viktor only gave one side at a time. Left bits out.

He wasn’t using Yuuri, that much had slowly broken through to Yuuri over the days since he had first heard Viktor explain it to Christophe. Then again to Georgi. At least, not without reciprocation.

Fresh views always liven a group, resurrect it from the dead. Especially when it had been left broken before by a missing member. And Yuuri could serve that purpose. Could fill the void with a purpose. The band would be just as much his as theirs with the introduction of his own song. His very presence.

No, he was more than a service to Yakov. More than an excuse for the band to be resurrected. He was a motivation. A cause. A person worthy enough for Viktor to stage a plan he had kept to himself until the last minute, to dig up his past, so that he could perform with the people Viktor respected the most. And didn’t it work both ways? Weren’t they a cause to reach out so that Viktor and Yuuri were not alone in fantastic endeavors?

Yakov was just a pawn. The one being used, though Yuuri couldn’t blame Viktor for setting it up like that.

But Yuuri? He was a linchpin, yes. A linchpin for a band that had gotten together once before and just needed the extra support to do so again. An excuse only on the surface as Viktor endeavored to make both of their careers spark, to get Yakov’s approval, to get his band back together.

It took two tellings for him to piece the story together.

It had taken several plane trips, several out of the way hotels, several off the map restaurants and shops and detours, for Yuuri to begin to relax with Viktor’s spontaneous nature. With the unplanned trips off course to see on sight or another. With the inserted chords that seemed so random against the rest of his song but made it better with that chaos. With his love for his band and for Yakov. For Yuuri. What else could explain the repeated benefits for everyone’s career? For everyone to have a better time? For better friends?

“Yakov is meeting us at Leningrad Rock Club — or whatever it’s called now, I guess — tomorrow evening.”

“ _ You didn’t _ .”

“Well, our song  _ is _ almost complete, right?”

Was Yuuri the only one to catch the “our”? Because Viktor kept talking and the others were too busy staring at him in fear of such a quick deadline.

“Vitya. You return with a deadline for me with  _ Yakov _ and don’t even tell me what’s going on?” Mila piped up, glaring at him now.

“Well, if you’d just let me  _ explain _ .”

“Better make your explanation quick. We’ll be here all night trying to harmonize that song with a band that hasn’t really seen each other in years.” Christophe looked at Viktor with half-closed eyes. No wonder Viktor had been so adamant on his bringing his base guitar upon leaving Switzerland.

Pulling out the copies he had hastily made of the sheet music, he handed the papers out and explained to Mila all that had happened.

She gave an exasperated sigh when he had finished. “Perhaps think before you talk to Yakov next, alright Vitya?”

Still, she scanned the papers, trying to examine every detail as thoroughly as possible in a short amount of time. When she had reached the end she tilted her head, lips pursed as she mulled it over for several moments.

“It’s incomplete. I mean, it’s good, but for how unique and beautiful the song is supposed to be, you’re missing something. Here.”

Bending over her desk in the small studio she ran, Mila grabbed a pencil and added in the lyrics it was missing. She then reached for a few blank music sheets and started filling in the lines. “A violin part. I’m writing you a violin part. Go practice in the meantime.”

Christope and Georgi nodded immediately and went to rehearse their parts. Georgi settled himself at the available piano while Christophe started memorizing the song. Yet Viktor and Yuuri stayed.

“Don’t you trust me to do a good job?” She asked harshly as she made hurried marks.

“Of course, of course Mila. I’ll just… go.”

Viktor backed away to join Christophe on his own guitar even as Yuuri lingered. He kept his distance even as he watched her hand trace over the pages and she hummed the melody. She ultimately allowed him to stay only because he was the original composer.

“Yura, you’re on the drums,” Mila ordered, picking up a violin and bow she had left on her desk earlier and weaving her way to where Viktor was practicing. Her orders warranted a cheer from Yuri as he hurried over to the set near the piano. “We’d better not be rusty. Or else Yakov will start to doubt you, too.”

“I don’t care about that much,” Viktor shrugged. He gave a few idle plucks at his guitar then looked around at the others, all bent over their own stations to piece this together. His eyes finally landed on Yuuri, who was just now yanking his guitar from its case. Waiting a few seconds for Yuuri to join them, Viktor finally made his move to step back and make room for Yuuri in front.

“Well, this is your song. You know it better than the rest of us. You’re leading.”

Yuuri nodded, hesitated in a moment of self doubt before nodding again and wearing the confidence he needed to make it through the next day.

“Hit it.”

* * *

 

 

“This is going to fail, Vitya,” Yuuri stated, voice hollow. He tried to quiet his voice enough to not catch the attention of the others.

They waited on the front steps of the club, waiting for Mila to arrive and open the door for them. She knew the owner of the building and didn’t hesitate to ask if they could rent out the building for their recital. It had been bereft of all life for the past few months anyway, making the keys slip into her hands easily.

With the sun setting Mila joined them, unlocking the door before demanding Christophe and Georgi to carry in the drum set. Yuri trailed them, snickering as they did so. Perhaps they would have had wiped the smirk off his mouth in some other situation, but Yuri was gifted on the drums.

Plus, no one particularly cared to delay Yakov when it meant that their dormant careers might finally become dominant in their lives once more.

Viktor wasn’t completely inattentive. He caught on quickly to Yuuri’s difficulties in staying calm when under pressure. His susceptibility to stress. Just before Yakov was due to arrive, Viktor stepped up to Yuuri and placed his hands on the other’s shoulders. Leaned his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“It’s just like how we practiced. Nothing has changed, alright? Just kick us off and focus on the music. You’ll do just as amazing as you did yesterday.”

Yuuri swallowed and nodded. His fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar and gripped the pick tightly as he waited. It was sensation, a distraction from constantly thinking of being judged.

_ This would be just like rehearsal. _

When Yakov had arrived and taken his seat, Yuuri had looked back. He had taken a deep breath and gave everyone else a small smile before turning back to the front. He tapped his heel against the floor three times, trying to remind the others of the tempo before delving into the first chords.

For a few moments it was just his guitar sounding off. Just him moving and creating. Then a few beats passed by, and things didn’t seem so bad with momentum propelling him forward, and he faintly heard Viktor strike his first note.

And Yuri keeping tempo softly in the background, finally able to hold himself to the same calm nature as the song needed after practicing all night.

And a few beats after Viktor began, Mila’s violin rang out. Simple notes that lasted several seconds at a time and served as the overarching bridge between the others.

Then Christophe and Georgi as the song began to pick up, to grow louder. To signify when it was time for Yuuri and Viktor to start singing.

“ _ I hear a voice weeping in the distance _ .” The lyrics that Christophe had written left Yuuri’s lips, gently yet powerful enough in emotion to grab attention. He leaned forward into the microphone as he let the words hang in the air, even as he fell silent to the more elaborate plucking at strings.

In between the first verses Viktor edged closer to Yuuri until they were side by side. It wasn’t rehearsed, wasn’t planned. But Yuuri noticed and turned to him as their parts overlapped, mirroring Viktor’s movements and vice versa. And Viktor kept his place there, even as he had to make an effort when he began singing in response to Yuuri’s beginning words. They moved together, played together, picked up where the other had left off, already used to each other fact the cramped and long rehearsal.

At the climax, when the song took on its life entirely, Yuuri finally allowed himself a smile. An admittance to himself that being in a band was thrilling. That not being the only one in the spotlight eased off the pressure, even as he worked alone and garnered his own attention. That the support was otherworldly compared to all his actual concerts.

And what a moment for him to look up briefly and see the same smile on Viktor’s lips. The same affection, strength, love.

They could do this.

They could work together.

They could lead the band in its revival.

It had been too exhilarating at the very end for him to even mind that it was over. He was grinning wide as he leaned back into the microphone and stated simply: “This was ‘Stammi Vicino’ and we are  _ The Legends _ .”

The briefest pause occurred, completely quiet aside from Yuuri’s ragged though muffled breathing and erratic heartbeat in answer to the song.

And then.

Yakov stood and sighed.

“Alright, Vitya, you got me. You have your damned band back. Just make sure they understand some English before we go back to the States.”

Whatever chance Yuuri had for breathing was lost as Viktor caught him in a tight embrace and cheered with the others. In the ecstasy of their performance. The approval. The future they were being given a second chance to follow.

Viktor leaned down slightly, not bothering to contain his utter joy and pride in Yuuri, in the band.

“Thank you.”


End file.
